All at once Quinn could smell Graham’s clam chowder, hear Mallory singing in the living room, his father talking on his phone in his office, feel Teresa’s fingers brushing his face. He closed his eyes, shoving everything away, and then blinked until his vision cleared.
They rounded a curve and the road widened before encountering a bridge choked with vehicles. They stretched from one side of the small river to the other, some of them crashed into signposts while others nudged one another’s bumpers. A massive eighteen-wheeler had rammed an antique shop on their side, its front end completely hidden by the building’s sidewall.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Alice said, slowing the Tahoe.
“Is there another way around?” Quinn asked, sitting forward.
“No. This street ends in another mile near the waterfront. Mom’s home is set back on the right, two blocks in on its own street.” Alice stopped the vehicle and scanned the pileup of cars. She slapped the steering wheel with her palm. “Damnit!”
Quinn waited. This wasn’t his decision to make, though everything he saw said to leave this place. The rows of trees seemed to grow inward as they idled in the street, the houses with empty windows staring at them. The breeze tugged at a small flag attached to the first car’s antenna blocking the bridge. It was a Boston Red Sox pennant.
“We’ll have to regroup and come back,” Alice said finally. She threw the Tahoe into reverse and backed into an empty drive before turning around.
“What do you mean, ‘regroup’?” Quinn said as they accelerated.
“I mean, figure something else out. We need better weapons, more ammunition. If we get that, we can go on foot across the bridge and make it to the facility.”
“So you won’t stop to pull a body out of the way but you’re going to go on foot out in the open?”
“It’s my mother. What would you do for your mother?”
“I never knew her.”
“Lucky you.”
Quinn shot her a look, and when she didn’t return his gaze, he went back to studying the various buildings scrolling by.
“We’ll need better firepower anyway. Here,” she said after a time, “use my phone’s browser to pull up all of the gun shops in the area. Hopefully the internet’s still working.”
Quinn thumbed the phone on and opened the internet application, only knowing which one to touch by having played with Graham’s phone over the years. After typing in ‘gun stores’ he hit search and touched the map option when the results appeared.
“There’s one about a mile away, Thor’s Outdoors.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Quite the name.”
“How do we get there?”
Quinn read the directions off as Alice piloted the Tahoe through the quiet streets. Neighborhoods appeared, their lawns as well maintained as the park they’d seen. The ocean stretched away on their left, its expanse flat and calm beneath the sun. Too far out to see any details, a ship floated, only a dot amongst the blue.
After barely squeezing between another set of crashed vehicles, the green sign of Thor’s Outdoors came into view, its yellow letters backed by a row of simple pine tree silhouettes. The parking lot was nearly empty save for several cars pulled tight to the front of the wide building. As they neared, the round holes in the vehicle’s bodies became apparent. The glass doors of the entrance were shattered, transparent fangs hanging down in sharp points. The blaze of brass shell casings littered the ground. Alice coasted to a stop a dozen yards from the building.
“Looks like they had themselves a shootout,” she said.
“I suppose this was one of the first places people came when it started to get bad,” Quinn replied. “When the hospitals wouldn’t take them, they decided guns were the next best thing.” He studied the interior of the business. The lights were off and darkness shaded the inside after forty feet. The outlines of clothes racks and cardboard stands were the most prominent before the rest of the merchandise faded into obscurity.
“Okay, you two stay here and I’ll run inside to check it out,” Alice said, unbuckling her belt.